


Cradle of Roots

by Hitsugi_Zirkus



Series: Halcyon: Sormik Week 2016 [2]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Sormik Week 2016, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitsugi_Zirkus/pseuds/Hitsugi_Zirkus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were affirmations both small and large imbued in Sorey’s physical gestures that Mikleo simply couldn’t live without.</p><p>(Super Late) Prompt Fill for Sormik Week Day 2: Earth</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cradle of Roots

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes something as pure as touch can communicate a gentle or strong flood of emotion and meaning. For the "Earth" prompt, I was thinking of ways Sorey and Mikleo "grounded" each other. "Touch" is a sense of the earth element, so that's how I ended up writing this fic. Because of that, there's not so much dialogue in this fic, so I hope the emotions still come through okay.

Like the last light of the sunset being swallowed by the earth, the ability for humans to see and hear seraphim dissolved the same day their peaceful co-existence ended. After that, only a select few could still perceive seraphim. Human babies, for example, were pure enough beings to see the ethereal beings that used to be worshiped like gods, they could still chase after that last bit of light, even if softly.

It had been a long time since Zenrus had taken care of a baby, and this would be the first that a human one would be left in his care. But he had sworn that he would look after both seraph and human child left to him as if they were his own -- and so while he knew little Sorey had needs greater than Mikleo’s, especially being born prematurely. His life was so tiny and precious, and so Zenrus and the seraphim of Elysia would give him their love and rock him in cradles of stars and iridescent light.

Sorey was crying at night. He’d been fed and changed, which meant he was fighting sleep. He could definitely hear Zenrus trying to soothe him with a lullaby, had responded to it before, even if he couldn’t see him quite yet. With living in Elysia and having a high resonance in the first place, it would be no time until Sorey could completely interact with seraphim, although he hadn’t yet. Sometimes it made things difficult, especially the first few weeks.

Zenrus hummed when Sorey continued to cry, unresponsive to his usual consoling methods. In the crib right beside Sorey laid Mikleo, who stared at his distressed neighbor through the wooden bars, wriggling about.

“Hmm, good idea, Mikleo. Perhaps you’d like to try.” With the rustle of soft wool blankets, Zenrus picked up Mikleo and settled him down in the empty space right next to Sorey. “Such an energetic child. Reason with him that he needs his sleep.”

Mikleo kicked his legs about, looking at Sorey still. He appeared to be taking in the crying face of his companion, and with the wave of his hand, his fingertips gently patted at Sorey’s cheek. He wriggled to move closer, his small hand swatting at Sorey as he made small cooing sounds.

Sorey hiccuped, his squirming body relaxing as he was touched. His head turned to Mikleo, and his watery green eyes widened, and his whole little pink body froze. Mikleo returned the stare, then went back to patting his fingertips over Sorey. Sorey jumped as if startled, and then, he smiled, the biggest smile he’d ever displayed, one that quickly turned into delighted laughter.

As laugh after laugh bubbled out from Sorey’s mouth, Zenrus watched with amused eyes. “Hohh, it’s finally happened then, hmm? You can see seraphim now.”

Hearing Zenrus, Sorey looked up, his eyes sweeping over the new form of the elder before him. He kicked his legs and arms in pure excitement, smiling again. He looked from Mikleo to Zenrus, the family he heard but never saw, and took them in with eyes brimming with joy. Zenrus had never seen Sorey as happy as he was in that moment. Come to think of it, the same could be said for the usually-silent Mikleo -- his soft, full-moon face cradled a smile of his own, a happiness in finally being seen by his companion. All it had taken was a simple touch.

As the two babies drifted to sleep, tiny fists on top of the other’s, Zenrus prayed such a grounding touch between them would continue to help them in their lives ahead.

 

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Mikleo had his eyes narrowed suspiciously at Sorey, his body half shot up from the bed. Sorey’s hand still lingered in the air after Mikleo had pulled away from him, and he blinked up at the accusation in those lavender eyes, mildly affronted.

“I wasn’t gonna tickle you.”

“Yeah, right. How many times have I fallen for that?”

“As many times as you’ve looked into my big innocent eyes that melted away your self control.” Sorey batted his eyelashes for good measure. When Mikleo didn’t move, Sorey started picking at the fabric of his blanket. “I really wasn’t going to do anything, I was just…”

They’d been in similar positions on their side, facing each other as they read the afternoon away. As absorbed as he was in the text, every so often Sorey’s eyes lifted up from the pages to Mikleo’s face in front of him, hair getting slightly unkempt with how his fingers curled into it. The rise of his shoulders dipping down to the narrow valley of his waist then up again for his thin hips caught Sorey’s attention longer than he had anticipated. He thought to smooth over the wrinkle of Mikleo’s shirt gathering at his waist to better see the shape…

“I was just gonna touch you,” Sorey finished quietly.

Mikleo raised a skeptical brow, but he was already leaning toward the bed again. “Just touch?”

“Yeah, I swear.”

It wasn’t like Sorey had ever tricked him like that before, so Mikleo conceded and settled back on the bed in his previous position. His book was still open, but his attention didn’t return to the pages. Instead, Sorey endured the weight of Mikleo’s expectant stare on him as he reached a hand out.

The casual shirt Mikleo wore was even more rumpled after that sudden movement. Sorey didn’t move to fix it. His hand instead followed the hem that had risen up and pushed it up further. Mikleo didn’t stop him, not when more of his milky skin was revealed, not when Sorey’s fingertips began to skate over the curve of his waist, the plane of skin covering his ribs, tracing each one. But Sorey could feel the sharp inhale, the expansion of Mikleo’s lungs.

“Sorry, does it tickle? It’s not intentional.” Sorey’s voice was more even and quiet than he expected it to be.

Mikleo’s came out the same way. “No. I mean -- it tickles a little, but mostly it’s…” He gave up supporting his head and laid it on his arm, getting comfortable.

Sorey took it as permission to continue. As expected of a seraph, Mikleo’s skin was silky without imperfections, and a beautiful kind of pale, something moon-kissed as described in poems. Sorey gradually went from just his fingertips to his whole palm settling over Mikleo, rubbing up and down his side, feeling over the goosebumps that had started to prickle Mikleo’s skin.

His movements, although experimental in the novelty of the situation, were something he hoped were soothing. Lately, it felt to Sorey like Mikleo was stressing about something. He’d been studying in Gramps’ house longer than usual and he wouldn’t tell Sorey much of what about. He was also getting more curious about how humans worked, and was pelting Sorey with questions such as how he felt when he was sick or hungry or fatigued. Sorey had no idea what it all meant, but it was obvious something was on Mikleo’s mind, making his contemplative expression appear more than usual.

 _I trust Mikleo, but -- even I want to take care of you sometimes, you know_.

Sorey stopped moving his hand, having dipped down to Mikleo’s stomach. The skin right above the waistband of his pants was so smooth, and probably soft under his lips.

When he glanced up, he saw Mikleo had fallen asleep under his touch. Sorey smiled, and considered his job a success.

* * *

It was obvious to anyone who spent time with him that Sorey was a physical person.

Countless times over their lives, Sorey’s arms had embraced him, hands cupping his shoulders or interweaving with his own fingers. Sorey had slotted him between his thighs when he sat, looking over Mikleo’s shoulder as they read. His fingers wriggled at Mikleo's sides to tickle him and his palms squished his cheeks together because his “expression was too serious”. When he slept next to Sorey during the nights following an exploration adventure or passing the moonlit hours reading by firelight, Mikleo could always expect Sorey to tangle their legs together, or his arm would secure itself over Mikleo’s waist, hugging him close until Mikleo could feel each time Sorey’s chest expanded and contracted with even, peaceful breaths.

Mikleo never hated any of it. There were affirmations both small and large imbued in Sorey’s physical gestures that Mikleo simply couldn’t live without. Even Mikleo had things he worried about, things he couldn’t get off his mind, such as who he was and who he could never be, and all it took was Sorey offering out his hand for their casual fistbump for Mikleo to think none of it could hold him back from what mattered -- staying by Sorey’s side.

“There’s no way I can leave you alone. You need me.” It was what Mikleo had told himself for years, what he prepared himself to prove when he learned about humans and the world, when he fought to prove himself to be a suitable Sublord for Sorey.

And for all their arguments, Sorey still understood him best, better than even Mikleo realized, and Sorey smiled when he said, “True enough. We need each other.”

But maybe Mikleo had taken that at face value. He thought it meant he and Sorey could stand side-by-side now, affirmed equals and partners, two parts of one. When they stood under the stars and Sorey didn’t have to say anything for Mikleo to suddenly know that Sorey was going away -- maybe not in distance, but in time, which was worse -- he wanted to selfishly point out that Sorey was going down a path Mikleo couldn't follow for once, and no amount of strength or knowledge could change this separation.

In the end, Mikleo couldn’t fight Sorey’s decision, not when he knew it was the right thing, not when Sorey’s optimism and determination to save humans and seraphim alike despite all hopelessness had rubbed off on him. He believed in Sorey's ability to bring light to any darkness, to create strong roots that could hold up new life. 

So Mikleo carried on his oath as Sublord, guarding Sorey’s sleep as a knight that would protect his lord.

The first few years were the worst. There was no heartbeat to press against his back at night. The days of enthusiastic hugs and kisses against his cheek were frozen in his memories, which Mikleo replayed again and again until he had forgotten the sensation of Sorey’s touch. That Sorey’s hands were “warm,” that his kisses along his sternum were “soft,” and that his body was so “strong” and “solid” when Mikleo embraced him lost meaning -- they were just words, descriptors, and did nothing to materialize what once was so real and a comfort to him, a reassurance of everyday life and peace. When Mikleo realized he had forgotten these things, he felt a welling loneliness like a whirlpool threatening to suck him down into the suffocating blackness.

Zaveid would warn what happened to seraphim who spent too much time with humans. “Don’t forget Eizen,” he’d say, and at least have the courtesy to have this conversation away from Edna. “Our boy Sorey might be as pure as they come, but he’s still human.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying take care of yourself, Micky boy. You ain’t foolin’ anyone. Some years you’re doing good, but other times you get that empty look in your eyes again. I don’t want to make the decision to point a gun at a friend ever again.” Zaveid might have been smiling, but his eyes were full of a slow, dark wind.

 _Harsh_ , Mikleo thought. _But fair_.

Most years he spent time continuing to explore the world just as he promised Sorey he would. The world was vast, and so beautiful. There was so much that he was seeing for the first time. The awe he and Sorey had of their very first look at the world -- the sunrise bright and hopeful and burning as it sprouted forth from the earth like a vibrant flower -- was completely justified, as Mikleo took in wonder after wonder, pieces of history, long-ago stories of the world.

Sometimes still, he wished for a hand to be next to him, a hand that would drag him along deeper into a ruin or toward a famous landmark he read about in a book once.

It was during one such exploration that Mikleo found himself falling under a ruin's crumbling floor -- a feeling he wasn't unfamiliar with, because some years it really did feel as though he were endlessly falling, nothing solid for him to hold on to, nothing to catch his fall -- and his hand was suddenly seized in a tight, warm grip.

 _O_ _h_ , he thought, _this is a memory_. But no memory could be as tangible as this.

It had been centuries. Lifetimes. Mikleo had forgotten such a touch, until now. Reflexively, his hand returned the grip, for literal dear life, in joy and desperation.

Mikleo looked up, and returned the smile offered to him.

He was grounded again. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly but surely I will get to all the prompts, ehe... I'm halfway through the "fire" prompt, though I'm not sure when I can publish that since my public library is undergoing remodeling so my source of internet is snatched away ;o; I will have to get my own wifi soon OTL
> 
> If you still want my shouting of soymilks though, feel free to follow me on twitter, @fuwajellyfish :D


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